


The First Date

by aljohnson



Series: "There, we've made a start" [3]
Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Honesty, Love, Romance, greek chorus landlady
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 08:16:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1219102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aljohnson/pseuds/aljohnson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have other chapters /stories planned which will slot in before this. What you haven't read yet (because I haven't written them yet) is a scene with The Landlady of the lodging house: Mrs June Williams and Shelagh, and a conversation between Patrick and Timothy.</p>
<p>To be fair, Patrick probably is over-dressed for Fish and Chips at his house, but this is what happens when you're in such a state of shock that you let a ten year old dress you.</p>
<p>USUAL DISCLAIMER - everything you recognise is copyright / IP of one or more of The Estate of Jennifer Worth, Heidi Thomas, or Neal Street Productions.</p>
<p>Except June Williams - she's all mine!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Gentleman Caller

**Author's Note:**

> In this chapter, June takes the position of 'wingman' and acts as sheepdog to the hopeless pair of Shelagh and Patrick, who might be getting very, very distracted by each other, whilst having some, frankly, quite bold thoughts!

Patrick stood on the doorstep of Mrs Williams’ lodging house, his nervousness starting to overwhelm him. He adjusted his tie for the fourth time in the last five minutes, and ran his hand through his hair. He had no idea now whether he was smoothing it down or ruffling it into an unholy mess. He reached out and nervously lifted the door knocker, wincing as he heard the sound reverberate through the wooden panelling of the door. He fidgeted with the bunch of flowers in his hand, worrying whether they were too many, too few, the wrong colour, whether Shelagh hated Chrysanthemums or loved them. 

He began rocking back and forth slightly, as he waited for the door to be answered. He scanned the building, there was a light on in the room he knew to be Shelagh’s. Was she looking down at him through the net curtains? Had she heard the MG when he had pulled up a few minutes earlier and just sat in the driver’s seat composing himself? Had she watched the car and seen him not getting out; was she worried? Was she as nervous as he was? He felt like an awkward teenager, utterly unsure of how to behave and in fear of the prospect of rejection. He was hopelessly in love with this woman, and since the events of less than eight hours ago when he had found her in the misty countryside, he was astounded to discover that she was in love with him. 

As the door finally started to open, Patrick adjusted his tie once more, straightened his shoulders and rocked forward onto his toes. It was hard to hide the disappointment in his face when it was Mrs Williams herself who greeted him.

“Ah, Doctor Turner, good evening”, she looked at her watch, “and only a quarter to six, my my” she added, teasingly, “someone is keen”. Patrick turned red and tried to think of any appropriate way to respond. June chuckled, “don’t you bother yourself Doctor, I’m just teasing! Come in, come in, I’m heating the street holding this door open.” She stepped aside and waved Patrick in, slipping the door shut behind him. She showed him through to the lounge at the front of the building, and gestured him towards the fireplace where a roaring fire was burning. “I know I shouldn’t, but it’s gone so cold this evening. Shall I take your coat Doctor?” Mrs Williams asked with a smile. 

Patrick fumbled with his overcoat, removing it inelegantly whilst trying to juggle the bunch of flowers. Did Shelagh have warm clothes for the cold air? He wasn’t sure what had been in the surprisingly heavy case he had lugged into the lodging house earlier, he hoped there were enough clothes for Shelagh to be comfortable. He would offer to buy her some, but that really did feel like a step too far. He had been surprised when she had accepted his offer to pay for these lodgings, and he could tell that she had been somewhat alarmed by the possible implications, not that he would ever even consider such actions - that would be entirely ungentlemanly.

He had tried to watch her, as she sat in the car on the drive back to Poplar, tried to figure out what she had been thinking. He had also been desperately tempted to reach out and take her hand whenever they stopped at a set of traffic lights, and he had thought that she had almost done the same at one point, but it had all been so strangely awkward.

Mrs Williams observed Patrick quietly. She had never seen a man quite so nervous. She was also aware, following her chat with Shelagh earlier in the day that the younger woman was nervous also. There had been quite a lot of advice given about various different outfit combinations, and hair options, which June had coaxed out of Shelagh over their tea and cake earlier. She realised that the flowers would need a vase. And possibly a miracle if the Doctor kept on holding them that tightly. 

“Well, if you wait here, I’ll just pop upstairs and let Miss Mannion know that you’re here. Do feel free to take a seat; you’re making the room look untidy standing there fretting.” She exited the room, smiling broadly. She climbed the stairs and knocked on Shelagh’s door. The door was flung open quickly; Shelagh was all a flutter, “Is he here? I thought I heard his car. He’s early. He’s never early. I’m not ready.” The words tumbled out of her mouth desperately as June continued to smile brightly. She manhandled Shelagh back into the room and shut the door behind them. 

“What are the two of you like? How either of you has ever rustled up the ability to even hint that you’re crazy for each other I don’t know. He’s standing down there looking like he’s lost a stone in sweat in the last three hours, you’re up here working through every combination of outfits you own and looking like you want the ground to swallow you up. Calm down dear, it’s just Fish and Chips.”

“I know, I know. What do you think about this outfit?” Shelagh was wearing a dark blue skirt that came to her calves, with a cream blouse and a light blue cardigan over the top. The utility shoes finished the outfit, Shelagh having no other choice in that respect.

“You look lovely Shelagh. And I like what you’ve done with your hair. Shelagh blushed. It had taken ages to decide on the outfit and the hair, even with her limited choice of clothes and even more limited knowledge of how to fix hair, the options had seemed overwhelming. Her mind raced back to Patrick, “Why is he early? Is he all right, there’s nothing wrong, he’s not cancelling is he?” 

“He’s fine, he’s fine. He does seem very nervous. He’s made an effort, that’s for sure, haven’t seen him looking so scrubbed up in quite a while”. June almost added something about the women of Poplar paying attention, but decided that Shelagh didn’t really need to think about the opinions or conversations of the women of Poplar right now. June suspected there was going to be quite enough of that to come in the next few weeks, if she was any judge. 

Shelagh blushed. Maybe he was wearing a waistcoat of some sort; he always looked really fetching in a three piece suit. Shelagh’s mind wandered to a place that surprised even the bolder side of her and she blushed an even deeper shade of red. June decided it was time to take matters in hand. “Right dear, and what coat are you wearing, it’s gone cold out.” 

Shelagh looked around the room. She had the jacket she had worn earlier today. “Oh. I have this suit jacket”, she indicated the item in question. 

“Hmm. Well, you run along downstairs, and I’ll find something for you to borrow. You’ll catch your death in something that thin”. June swept Shelagh out of the room, Shelagh collecting her handbag as she went. She made her way down the stairs, a mixture of excitement, dread, fear, hope and anticipation rising from the pit of her stomach to the back of her throat as she went. 

In the lounge Patrick felt time passing more slowly than it ever had. Even when Timothy was being born time had seemed to pass faster than this, although he had been occupied with helping out then. Well, less helping and more doing whatever Sister Evangelina barked at him. His thumb instinctively worried his wedding band. He was glad he’d managed to speak to Timothy this afternoon; it had helped him as much as he hoped it had helped the boy. 

Patrick heard footsteps on the stairs. They did not sound like those of Mrs Williams and hope rose in him as he turned to the door, straightening his tie once again. Timothy had practically had to dress him, and he’d been very uncertain about the choice of tie in particular. The door tentatively swung open, and Patrick found himself gazing at Shelagh, standing in the doorway. 

“Hello” Shelagh said, nervously. She looked at him properly then. Oh, he was wearing a waistcoat. The suit was black with the merest hint of a pinstripe, and the tie was a deep blue, with some sort of yellow flecks. It was actually a really nice outfit. Shelagh felt herself blushing as she looked at him. She found herself wanting to reach out and kiss him, but that felt like it would be far too forward. 

“Hello” said Patrick, once he could speak. Patrick was lousy at fashion, as he had often been told by Timothy, but Shelagh looked stunning. Her hair was loose, held back from her face with some sort of hair band. He realised he’d never really seen her hair before. He had, it supposed, always been hidden underneath her wimple. He shuddered slightly. Could he ever hope to live up to all she was sacrificing? This morning she had still, technically, been Sister Bernadette, and it occurred to him that her hair had been tied up still. Now it was cascading down to her shoulders, loose curls bouncing and shimmering in the light reflected from the fire behind him. He realised he was still holding the flowers with the death grip of a poacher around a rabbit’s neck. He loosened his hand and held them out to Shelagh, “These are for you.” He had no clue what else to say, he was completely mesmerised by her beauty. What did she see in him? 

Shelagh walked over to him and took the proffered flowers. She had no idea where to put them or if June would have any sort of suitable vase. She inhaled the scent of the flowers. No one had ever given her flowers before, certainly not shop bought ones like this, specially chosen and cut and wrapped in fresh brown paper. She smiled up at him, “they’re beautiful. Thank you.” She looked at him; he was handsome, really very handsome. There was a twinkle in his eyes, and wisdom in the lines marking his face. She wanted to reach out and stroke his face, run her hands through his hair and kiss him deeply, and she was shocked at the stirrings of passion she could feel within herself. 

June popped her head round the corner of the still open door. “Ah, there you are. Here’s that coat for you. Would you like me to put those in some water for you?” she gestured towards the flowers which Shelagh was now clutching to her chest. 

“Oh, yes, thank you, that would be lovely” Shelagh replied, reluctantly relinquishing the flowers to June, as June placed the coat over the back of the easy chair near the fire. 

“Well, you’re a little early Doctor Turner, why don’t you two sit down for a few minutes before you hurry back off outside” said June, nudging the couple towards the sofa. They both stumbled over to the piece of furniture as June bustled her way back out into the hallway, carefully ensuring she pulled the door to as she went, giving Patrick and Shelagh some privacy. 

They sat down, both nervously hovering on the edge of the cushions. Neither of them spoke. Patrick coughed. He wanted to ask about how things had gone with Sister Julienne, whether whatever paperwork it was had been signed. Shelagh looked at him, hopefully.

“You look lovely” he said, losing his nerve at the last second. 

“Thank you” said Shelagh shyly, unused to even being offered compliments, let alone accepting them, “I like your suit” she offered, meekly. Were you allowed to compliment men on their appearance? She wasn’t sure. Patrick smiled in response, which Shelagh accepted as a positive sign. He reached out and took her hand in his.

“How was your day?” he asked, giving himself another run towards the question he really wanted to ask. 

“It was,” Shelagh paused, “It went,” she wasn’t sure how to say what she wanted to. She tried again, “Sister Julienne was very kind. And other than seeking an assurance that I was absolutely certain that I wanted to leave, and that I had somewhere to stay, she asked no questions”. 

“May I ask, what did you say to her?”

“Well, I had already spoken to her last week when she came to visit me at the Sanatorium, which is why I had been expected to go to Chichester – when she sent my luggage she said in her letter that she had spoken with Mother Jesu Emanuel who had said that I should go to the Mother House when I was discharged. I was supposed to be considering my future with the Order whilst they fed me tea and cake.”

“But you came back here instead”

“Yes.” She paused and looked directly at him. “I didn’t need any more time. I knew. I knew that my future” she gathered her courage, “I knew that my future lay with you”. 

“And mine with you.” He paused, “Forgive me, but earlier you mentioned paperwork…”

“All signed. Back to being plain old Shelagh Mannion” she smiled.

“Beautiful Shelagh Mannion” said Patrick. Oh he wanted to kiss her, properly, not just on the hand. His fear was however, that if he kissed her now, he’d never want to stop, and he was fully aware of Mrs William’s somewhat strict rules regarding ‘gentleman callers’. He held her hand slightly tighter instead, seeking to reassure her, and on some level communicate his love and desire for her as well. Shelagh blushed; it was getting remarkably warm in here. 

“Should we go?” she asked, noting that the clock on the mantle was about to chime for six o’clock. 

“We should” said Patrick, standing up. He moved over to the chair by the fire and collected the coat Shelagh was borrowing. He helped Shelagh to put the coat on, sliding his hand round her waist as she turned round. Shelagh hesitated, his touch felt electric, even through this many layers. She reluctantly took a step away, towards the door. 

“Did you have a coat?” she asked.

“Yes, Mrs Williams took it from me. Do you have any idea where she might have put it?” 

The door opened and June breezed back in, carrying Patrick’s coat with her. “Ah, ready to go I see. Here’s your coat Doctor”. She handed him the coat, which he slipped over his suit. “Just a quick reminder that curfew is ten o’clock” she smiled brightly at the pair. 

“Yes, absolutely. Thank you Mrs Williams” said Patrick.

“Thank you June. I’m sure I’ll not be anything like that late. It’s well past my bedtime for a start” said Shelagh lightly. She had slept so much over the last few months, now she wanted to get out and experience life, but she was also a realist and well aware that she would probably sleep very soundly indeed tonight.

Patrick reached towards the front door, swiftly opening the door, turning back to usher Shelagh through. She nervously stepped over the threshold of the building, quickly checking the street outside, which was mercifully quiet. June shut the door behind them, winking at Shelagh as she did, “well, I’ll have the Horlicks ready for you. Have fun!” 

June shut the door – she’d wager that before too long Shelagh Mannion would be testing the strength of that curfew.


	2. The first kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After much trepidation, and a small poll on Tumblr, I have decided to include the first kiss here. They will eventually get to eat food, I promise!

The car journey back to Patrick’s had felt remarkably quick – the lodging house really was only a few streets from Kenilworth Row. 

Shelagh was trying to suppress the giggles she could feel rising up within her. She felt like a giddy school girl, not a fully grown woman in her early thirties. She was just so excited, this was a date, with the man she loved, and there was no worrying about feeling like she wasn't supposed to behave in this manner. She finally felt free of the guilt and worry and confusion which had hung over her like a cloud for most of the year, and definitely since the fete in the summer. 

For his part, Patrick was intensely relieved that he was no longer sat in his car with a nun. He had no idea of what sort of paperwork one signed for this sort of thing, and it struck him as vaguely curious that a process which began with training periods and a careful immersion and almost an apprenticeship phase and then very serious and lengthy vows could be brought to an end so swiftly, with just a signature on a piece of paper. He wasn't going to question it too much though, and was glad for Shelagh’s sake that it all appeared to be somewhat private.

Patrick parked the car up outside his house, smiling over to Shelagh as he turned the engine off. “Well then, here we are. Timothy should be back by now with supper”. Patrick got out of the car and made his way round to the passenger side to open Shelagh’s door for her. 

Shelagh smiled, she couldn't stop smiling it seemed. Apparently he thought she was beautiful, and that thought made her glow slightly with a sense of pride she had not been allowed to indulge in for many years. One was allowed to be proud for a job well done of course, for a baby safely delivered into this world and a mother helped through the emotionally and physically draining process of childbirth, but pride in and for oneself had quite distinctly not been allowed. It felt strange, to suddenly be allowed to think of yourself, and what you would like, rather than having to suppress those thoughts at all times and submit to another’s will, even if it was the will of God. 

Patrick helped Shelagh from the MG, taking her hand as he did so. He continued to hold her hand as they walked the few yards to the front door. Patrick fumbled in his pocket for the key to the house, eventually locating the small piece of brass, sliding it into the lock and turning it quickly. He gently led Shelagh through the door, easing it shut behind them.

In the shadows of the bushes, hidden by the dark and the enveloping fog, Timothy observed the scene, and turned away, heading around the corner to the Chip Shop. He calculated that if he walked slowly there, if there was a reasonable queue, and if he walked back at a fast enough pace to ensure that the supper stayed warm, but slowly enough for the chips not to be burningly hot, that he would be gone about 15 minutes. Hopefully, this was long enough for his dad to pull himself together and kiss "Auntie" Shelagh, a label he still wasn't entirely sure about. 

In the hallway of the modest house, Patrick turned and gently let go of Shelagh’s hand, shucking his overcoat off as he did. He hung the garment up on the rack of coat hooks and turned to Shelagh, who was slowly unfastening the buttons on the borrowed coat. “Let me help you with that” Patrick whispered, stepping closer and reaching out to Shelagh. His hands again slid round her waist as he helped her out of the coat, but now they made contact with the waistband of her skirt. Shelagh breathed deeply to suppress the gasp she almost emitted. His touch was so light and gentle, yet Shelagh felt as if he had burnt the imprint of his hand onto her skin. Patrick broke the contact to hang the coat carefully onto the hook next to his. 

“Timothy” he called out, “we’re home” he stumbled as he said the final word, and turned to see Shelagh’s reaction. He was pleasantly relieved to find her smiling at him. There was no response and Patrick moved further into the house, looking into the kitchen. He noticed that the oven was on a low heat and checking inside realised that there were plates inside, set to warm for their supper. Shelagh looked around the kitchen, it was very neat and tidy, and a large hatch looked into the lounge beyond. The boy was not in there either. “Oh, maybe he’s upstairs?” Patrick wondered to himself as much as Shelagh, “Wait here, I’ll just pop up and see”. 

He dashed up the stairs, leaving Shelagh to wander through to the lounge. She suspected the boy was not here; the distinctive smell of fish and chips, swathed in salt and vinegar, was not hanging in the air. Perhaps the boy had the same habit of lateness as his father?

She chuckled to herself and moved to casually examine the items on the mantelpiece and fire surround. A small collection of photographs, some books, a clock, a drawing which she presumed Timothy had done. There was a large mirror hung over the fireplace itself and Shelagh took the opportunity to quickly check her appearance. Gosh, her cheeks were slightly pink, she imagined it must be the change in temperature between outside and in here, and she turned away from the mirror quickly. She was casually noting the Television, the wireless and the piano when she heard Patrick dashing down the stairs. 

“He’s not up there either. I don’t know where he can have got to”.

“Perhaps there is a queue at the Chip Shop?” asked Shelagh, “how far away is it?” 

“Oh it’s just around the corner. We did agree he’d be back for six.”

“Well, I'm sure he’ll not be a few minutes” Shelagh said, her lilting voice betraying a hint of her Scottish accent, “but in the meantime, here we are.” She smiled at him again, taking a tentative step towards him. 

“Yes. Here we are.” Patrick drew closer to her, “Just the two of us.” He stepped even closer to her, reaching carefully for her right hand. He lifted it slowly towards him, watching her as he did. Neither of them could stop looking at each other; neither of them wanted to, but there was the briefest moment of broken contact as Patrick shut his eyes and kissed the palm of Shelagh’s hand. She briefly closed her eyes, and felt sadly disappointed when he broke the all too brief kiss. He made as if to back away, but Shelagh tightened her hold on his hand.

Patrick looked at Shelagh, both of them finding their breathing becoming somewhat shallower. Shelagh bent her arm back towards her, drawing Patrick’s hand with it. She placed his hand on her waist, leaving her hand on top of his. She felt his fingers uncurl and spread out, could see in his eyes his confidence growing as she continued to not let go. She took her left hand and raised it to his shoulder, flattening out her hand, her fingers curling over the seam running along the top of his suit jacket. She raised herself to her tiptoes, using her hand on his shoulder as a lever, keeping eye contact with him all the while. She reached out and gently kissed her lips to his, the brushing of their lips lasting the merest of seconds. 

Time stopped as each of them felt the others breathing, relishing the brief contact. Shelagh felt as if a fire had been lit within her, and moved towards his lips again. This time Patrick responded more forcefully, as if shaken out of a dream, and he kissed her back passionately. 

Shelagh felt Patrick’s free hand flatten against her spine, holding her tight to him. She relaxed her grip on the hand holding his, moving it up his arm and to the back of his shoulder with an amount of confidence that surprised her. They had both, at some point, closed their eyes, moving against one another now by touch alone. Patrick slowly deepened the kiss, allowing Shelagh to become more familiar with the action of his lips and tongue as she followed the lead he had now taken from her. Minutes passed as they continued to kiss, slowing and quickening, but perfectly in time with each other. Patrick felt Shelagh’s breath skip as he moved his hand further round her waist, and was surprised when he realised one of her arms was now inside his suit jacket and stroking the back of his waistcoat, her fingers trailing slow patterns over his back. Her other hand had found its way into his hair, and Shelagh was enjoying the feel of her fingers dancing through his now somewhat dishevelled locks.

The sound of a key being very loudly scrapped in the front door lock snapped them apart, their grips loosening as they unwrapped themselves. They both stepped backwards, still continuing to look at each other. Shelagh smiled shyly, her teeth scrapping against her bottom lip. Patrick looked back at her, astounded. He had really not been expecting to kiss her yet, but he was immensely glad that it had happened. He hoped he hadn’t seemed too forward. The pair stood, still standing close together, as Timothy moved into the lounge.

“Right then, here we are.” He held aloft three packages tightly wrapped in newspaper, “Supper. Sorry I'm a little late, there was a terrible queue” said Timothy, lying through his teeth. 

He moved towards the kitchen, “I’ll just get the plates, then we can tuck in,” he beamed brightly at the two grown-ups, who appeared to him to be somewhat in a world of their own, “although it appears you may have already eaten” he murmured to himself under his breath as he turned his back on the now blushing pair.


	3. A Nun Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Timothy Turner knew what face-palming was, he'd do it quite a lot at the start of the actual supper part of this date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My entire knowledge of the routine of nuns is based off CTM and what I can glean from a Wikipedia page that I suspect needs a slight edit. If I am hopelessly wrong, please tell me, I can always correct this....

Timothy obtained the warmed plates from the oven and passed them over onto the hatch. His Dad took them from him, smiling broadly, “Thanks Tim”. Patrick set out the plates, and unwrapped the first package. Shelagh was hovering round the table, unsure of where to sit. Patrick looked at her and smiled, “all right?”

“Erm, yes. Where are we all sitting?” Shelagh asked. 

“Oh,” Patrick quickly moved around, pulling a chair out for Shelagh, “are you all right with this one?” He was suddenly very unsure of himself. 

“That’s lovely, great, thank you” said Shelagh, settling into the seat. She was still blushing, recalling the kiss. It had been everything she had wished for, and she realised now that the love between them was never destined to remain merely longing glances and chaste hand kisses, but was at some point going to explode into a fireball of passion and desire. Shelagh could feel the fire beginning to burn even now. She felt there was an understanding between them, but nothing had been asked or answered and she suddenly felt terribly out of her depth.

Timothy looked around the kitchen; it seemed as if his dad hadn’t even got round to putting the kettle on. Timothy looked through the hatch, “would you like a cup of tea?” he looked towards Shelagh. 

“Thank you Timothy, that would be lovely”. 

Tim moved over and filled the kettle from the tap, then carefully moved it back onto the work surface and plugged the appliance in. He poured himself some pop, figuring that he’d get away with the usually rationed treat. He prepared the teapot, cups and milk jug, sliding the tray of crockery and glass of pop over to the hatch, where his dad set it down onto the table. Timothy moved through to the lounge, hoping that by now his Dad and Shelagh had pulled themselves together enough to be able to hold a conversation.

He sat down in his seat, positioned between them. No-one had as yet started eating, and he wondered casually whether there was an expectation that someone would say Grace. He and his dad didn't do that sort of thing, but Granny Parker did, and he figured it was probably a nun thing too. 

“Can I start?” he asked to the room generally.

Shelagh and Patrick looked at each other. The issue of Grace had occurred to Patrick in passing, but he wasn't sure if anyone could thank the Lord for providing battered cod and deep fried chipped potatoes. “If it’s all right with you?” Patrick asked the woman opposite him. 

“Oh, yes, of course” Shelagh replied. She briefly shut her eyes for the most fleeting of moments, offering up a silent word of thanks, not wanting to impose on Patrick and Timothy. It all suddenly felt very strange and dis-jointed. She had got so used to behaving in a certain way, living according to prescribed rules and regulations, now she wasn't sure what was appropriate or correct or acceptable. 

Timothy grinned and dug into the steaming pile of chips, using his fingers as much as the cutlery next to his plate. He sat back in his chair, watching the two adults before him. Shelagh appeared to have turned a shade of bright crimson, and his dad couldn't stop staring at her. Neither of them was managing to speak.

Timothy focused his attention on Shelagh in between mouthfuls of fish. There was something different about her this evening than there had been this morning when they had found her on the roadside. He tried to puzzle out what it was as he looked back at his dad, who was eating exceptionally slowly, even by usual standards. The kettle clicked off and Timothy took the opportunity to break the tension.

“Right, kettle’s boiled. Dad, give me a hand?” he practically grabbed his dad by the suit jacket and dragged him into the kitchen. Timothy pulled his dad to the farthest possible side of the room, whispering to try to overcome the absolute lack of privacy. 

“You've gone quiet” said the boy.

“Have I? Sorry, my mind’s wandering a bit”

“Auntie Shelagh will think you’re being rude. You need to start talking”

“Oh. What about?” Patrick was all at sea. 

“Anything. Ask her how her afternoon was. Find out what her plans are for the week, anything”.

“Right ho. Timothy, you go back in and start talking, I’ll bring the tea through when it’s brewed, And no awkward questions!”.

Timothy was well aware that his dad was trying to dodge a bullet here. He sighed and retreated back to the lounge, sitting down at the small dining table and tucking back into his food. 

“So, Auntie Shelagh, how was your afternoon, get up to much?” the boy beamed brightly.

“Oh, good thanks, Timothy. Mrs Williams and I had a lovely chat, and I settled in a bit” she paused, remembering that it had taken all of fifteen minutes to unpack her few things, and that a good five minutes of that had consisted of wondering where to put Patrick’s letters, which she had carefully wrapped in a large handkerchief before she had left the Sanatorium. “What did you get up to?”

“Oh, Dad and I went out on his rounds, which mostly involved me sitting in the car whilst he dashed in and out of different houses and things.” The boy smiled, he was going to gloss over the serious and in depth chat that he and his Dad had managed to have, in snatched and fragmented pieces whilst driving around Poplar, “And we went back to the Maternity Hospital at one point. I’d already cleaned all the equipment though, for which Dad still owes me Half a Crown”.

Shelagh was over-whelmed, she felt like she’d achieved nothing in comparison to all that. “Half a Crown, that sounds like bribery to me!”

“I've got super quick at it now, he makes me help him every time it’s school holidays.”

Patrick came back in with the tea-pot. “Fred’s daughter Dolly has had her baby. That’s who I had to go and check on this morning, when you called”.

“Oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have disturbed you”.

“I'm jolly glad you did” interjected Timothy, “today would have been really boring otherwise”. 

Timothy beamed at Shelagh, who was now finishing her supper, and folding the newspaper carefully back in on itself. Timothy looked at her hands, remembering how carefully they had danced across his elbow last summer when she’d sorted out his arm. He looked over at his dad’s hands, fidgeting with the teapot, and then back at Shelagh’s. He realised what was different.

“You’re not wearing your ring” he blurted out, pointing at Shelagh’s now bare hand. She looked at her fingers, her thumb stroking over where the ring had been until just a few hours ago.

“Oh. No, I'm not.” she went very quiet and looked down at the table.

“Why not?” asked the boy, inquisitively.

“Timothy!” said Patrick, mortified at the boy’s impertinence. He hadn’t even realised about the ring, and he looked at his own hand now, his wedding band still nestled on his left hand. 

“Its fine, Patrick, really” said Shelagh, recovering herself. “Erm, well because I'm not a nun anymore” she said, answering the boy.

“So the ring is a nun thing?” Timothy asked, slotting things together in his mind, “like the clothes and the name?” 

“Yes, like the clothes and the name” said Shelagh. 

“Oh, I see” Timothy considered all this. He noticed his dad fiddling with his wedding band nervously. It occurred to him that Dad wore it because of Mum. 

Shelagh looked at Patrick and saw the apology in his eyes. Even as he was still fiddling with the ring, he was realising that he was going to have to stop wearing it. He’d never really thought that this would happen to him; that he’d find himself a widower, with a ten year old son and desperately in love with a much younger woman. And she was, he realised, much younger. He felt like an old fool. But the ring reminded him of Timothy’s mother, and he wasn't sure how the boy would feel about him taking it off.

“What else is a nun thing?” asked the boy, curious now.

The panicked look in Patrick’s eye meant that Shelagh was trying to suppress a laugh. The boy had strayed very far from the “no probing questions” she had been assured of, but she imagined that other people would say things much more bluntly.

“Well, it’s a different way of living really. There’s lots of different sets of prayers, at certain times of day, and something called ‘The Great Silence’ every night, where you have to be totally quiet”

“What, totally quiet? Why?”

“Well, it’s to allow for contemplation, and reflection on what has happened in the day. And for prayer.”

Timothy processed this, “But what if one of the babies comes at night – don’t you have to answer the phone? Dad has to answer the phone and rush out all over the place, and I know it’s the midwives ringing him”. 

“Well, yes, there’s a sort of rota system. Even God can’t control when a baby will want to arrive, so we’re allowed to make exceptions”. 

“But if God is omnip..., omnipo...,” Timothy struggled with the word.

“Omnipotent?” suggested Shelagh.

“Yes. Then why doesn't he arrange for the babies to turn up when it’s OK for the nuns to talk, when they’re not doing any of their other nun stuff?” 

“Well, that’s a very good question. God gave us all free-will Timothy, and so babies turn up whenever they feel good and ready. It’s not always an exact science”. Shelagh really hadn’t expected a theological debate, and wasn't really sure what Timothy’s stance on religious matters was. She looked over to Patrick for guidance, and was met by a beaming smile from Patrick, who was looking at her adoringly. 

“Oh. I think I understand. Dad are you finishing those chips?” asked Timothy, pointing towards the unfinished portion in front of his dad. 

“Oh, erm, no. here you go” Patrick pushed the bundle over towards Tim, but as he did so Shelagh leaned forward and swiped some of the chips from the paper, holding them in her fingers as she ate them one by one. Timothy grinned.

“Auntie Shelagh, you’re a grown up, grown-ups always use cutlery” He was secretly pleased that Shelagh seemed to be relaxing a bit.

“Aye, well sometimes it’s good to let loose. And I think they taste better if you use your fingers” Shelagh grinned at Timothy. The two of them shared the remaining chips between them, as Patrick looked on in wonder. She was amazing, he could feel his heart swelling the more he was with her, and he never wanted to let her go. 

The realisation struck him like a thunderbolt that he wanted to propose; no, that he was going to propose. His mind wandered to questions of logistics: When? Where? How? What was he to do about a ring? Would she say ‘yes’? What would Timothy say? The boy had taken things remarkably well so far, but there was no denying that things were moving very quickly indeed, and a progression to the prospect of a step-mother might be too much, too soon. Patrick filed the matter away in the back of his mind and resolved to talk to Timothy later. 

“Are you going to miss it?” the boy was asking Shelagh something again.

“Miss what?”

“Being a nun. Will you miss it?”

Patrick snapped out of his daydreaming, “Timothy!” he exhorted towards the boy, panic written all over his face. 

Shelagh smiled over at him, “It’s fine Patrick, really. Well, yes Timothy, I will miss it. It’s been my life for the last” she paused, quickly calculating, “oh gosh, for the last ten years”

“That’s my whole life” said Timothy excitedly.

“Yes. But, I haven’t been entirely” she searched for the appropriate word, “certain, that it was the right life for me for some time”.

“Oh” Timothy considered this, scrunching his face up in concentration. “And now?” asked the boy.

“And now I am certain, very certain, that I am not supposed to be a nun anymore. It is no longer the right choice for me.”

Patrick was focusing intently on pouring the tea. He offered a cup to Shelagh. “Milk and Sugar?” he asked, winching slightly at the realisation of how little they really knew about each other. 

“Milk, thank you. No sugar”. Shelagh’s fingers brushed Patrick’s ever so lightly as he handed her the tea cup. They both felt the jolt of electricity and could do nothing to stop themselves from gazing into each other’s eyes. 

Timothy sighed, pushing his chair away from the table. He gathered up the plates and cutlery, and started to move towards the kitchen. He decided to make washing the dishes the slowest household task he had ever performed.


	4. Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leave them on their own for long enough, and these two do actually talk....

“I’ll go and wash these, you two should go and sit on the sofa” said Timothy, looking purposefully at his dad as he said it. Patrick took the hint.

“Yes. Shelagh, would you like to….?” Patrick gestured wildly toward the sofa, as Timothy started wondering whether he could manage to sneak upstairs without being noticed. He figured that if he left them alone they’d have to talk to each other. And he was getting slightly bored with the mooning at each other that both his Dad and Shelagh were partaking in. He moved through to the kitchen, leaving Patrick and Shelagh alone.

Shelagh stood up, taking her tea in one hand, and Patrick’s hand in the other. She moved over to the sofa, Patrick following her lead. She sat down, positioning herself slightly towards one end, but not far enough as to be wedged in the corner. Patrick sat towards the other end, leaving a respectful distance between them. 

In the kitchen Timothy watched through the hatch as Shelagh sipped from her tea cup. He was heartened when his dad said something he couldn't quite hear and Shelagh laughed in response. He turned away and busied himself with quietly clearing up. 

He started planning his escape route upstairs. He glanced at the clock, almost seven o'clock. If he dragged out this washing up to its fullest extent, he could make it last thirty minutes. Then he’d sneak upstairs. He reckoned he could get into the hallway without being seen, and could then find something quiet to do in his room for another half hour or so. He didn't know how long ‘supper’ was supposed to last when it was a ‘date’; he thought maybe two or so hours. He was just worried that if he left them alone together that the chances of them talking about anything were slim, and he didn't want his dad to mess this up. He could hear giggling coming from the sofa, and glanced over to find Shelagh grinning towards his dad. He heard the words “Carter” and “Birthing Stool” and decided he didn't want to know any more about whatever they might now be talking about. 

On the sofa Patrick and Shelagh were both starting to relax. They sipped their tea, and Patrick fumbled in his jacket pocket for his cigarette holder. He flipped open the case and offered it towards Shelagh, “would you like one?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, thank you.” 

Patrick fumbled for his matches, finding the box and striking a match down the side. He leaned forward, lighting first Shelagh’s cigarette and then his own. He leaned back, blowing the smoke away. “I'm sorry for Tim’s questions, he can be very searching”.

“Its fine Patrick, really, nothing I can’t handle. I was expecting a quite thorough grilling; full life history, that sort of thing”. She smiled at him, as they fell briefly quiet once more.

“It feels like we know so little about each other. I didn't even know your name until this afternoon, and yet” Patrick struggled to allow himself to admit the full force of his feelings, “and yet, I know that I love you, so it feels like none of that could possibly matter.”

“I agree. I could ask you your favourite colour, or book, or for full disclosure of everything you've experienced in life so far, but I don’t need to know any of that. I just need to know that you’re a good and loving man, and I do.”

They both leaned back in companionable silence, quietly smoking their cigarettes. Patrick couldn't take his eyes off her. He wanted to know everything about her, even if just as a matter of record, but he was becoming far more concerned about the possibility of their shared future. 

“Forgive me for being forward, but, do you want children?” Patrick asked, leaning forward to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table.

“Gosh, erm, yes, yes I believe I do. What about you?” Shelagh nervously tried to deduce his answer as she carefully placed the remnant of her cigarette in the ashtray next to Patrick’s.

“I never thought, that I would ever have the opportunity.” Patrick answered slowly, deliberately, “But, I would, very much, like another child, or children. With you,” he added, in case there could be any mistake about his meaning. He reached his hand out and grasped Shelagh’s delicate fingers. She adjusted her position on the sofa, moving closer towards him.  
She smiled, “Well, that’s one big topic dealt with” she teased.

“Yes. Well then. Favourite chocolate bar?”

Shelagh laughed, sitting back and releasing her hand, “Now that is a hard question. I don’t know. I haven’t really had chocolate in so long. The Order was more cake-focused, in terms of treats…” she went quiet, and Patrick worried that he had touched a raw nerve.

“I'm sorry. I forget, almost entirely, that you've been living a very different life than most people. I suppose there are just so many, everyday things, that I take for granted, but which, now that I think about it, must for you be quite unfamiliar”.

“Yes. I didn't really think about a ‘normal life’ for so long. I had work, and the routine of, well, everything. And even though you take your vows knowing that there will be sacrifices, after a bit, in so many ways, you tend to forget what you've never had, or at least not had in a very long time.”

“You said you hadn’t been certain about it for some time?” Patrick asked, carefully.

“No. I had been questioning my vocation, in that respect, for some time. And on occasion, I had thought about what a life outside the Order would be like. But it was all so unclear. I had no idea what I would do, what other path there could possibly be for me.”

“So, it wasn't just me then?” asked Patrick tentatively, not sure whether he alone was an adequate compensation for her abandonment of her previous life.

“Not just you. No. But I think, I think my developing feelings for you forced me to make a decision that was over-due; that I had been putting off facing for quite some time.” Shelagh didn't want Patrick to feel like she was placing her entire future happiness and well-being in his hands, but she did want him to know that if it were not for him, she probably would not have taken the final decisive step. “I knew I had feelings for you, but I was so conflicted, I thought that God would punish me if I decided that I wanted to act on them. I thought that I was merely being tested, rather than, as I believe now, that I was being shown another path.”

“Without wishing to sound flippant and I mean entirely no disrespect when I say this, but I have always thought that God was supposed to be about love. How could you believe he would punish you for finding love?”

Shelagh paused, considering her answer, and Patrick worried that he had offended her, he moved to speak but Shelagh cut him off, “Because of my previous decision, to live a religious life, where this sort of love is forbidden”. She reached out and grasped his hand. “But you are right, God is about love, and once I realised that I was not being tested, and that the TB was not a punishment, it all became so clear; that I was not meant to live that life anymore, but that I was being led, by Him, to move back into the world outside of the Order. And I know you have said before that you wished you had my faith, and I have said that I wished it could always help, but my faith is helping me now, to know that the decision to move back into a secular life does not mean abandoning my faith, does not mean that my love for God is diminished, nor His for me. He has shown me that my love for you should not be hidden, and is not for me to be scared of.”

They both went quiet, Patrick trying to take in the shear enormity of everything Shelagh was telling him; Shelagh herself worrying that she was saying too much, being too honest. Would the intensity of her journey scare him?

“I am so sorry that I am the reason you went through so much turmoil. But I am so glad that you have made the decision you have.” Patrick smiled at her, his words felt so inadequate. He squeezed her hand that was still holding his. “And I will try, every day, to live up to the choice you have made.”

They both fell silent then, the intense depth of their conversation filtering through their minds. Shelagh felt that she had revealed much more than she had intended to. She did not want to put pressure on Patrick, but she felt that he needed to know that her decision came, she felt, not just from herself, but was made with guidance from the God she loved. The atmosphere in the room had become very heavy.

“And, in answer to your earlier question, it has been a while, but I suppose, a Kit Kat.”

“Sorry?” Patrick was completely confused.

“My favourite chocolate bar. A Kit Kat” said Shelagh. She grinned looking at the bewilderment on his face. Patrick recalled how this conversation had started, and laughed out loud.

“Why a Kit Kat?”

“Erm, the chocolate and the biscuit. I like the layers. And you can nibble the chocolate off round the edges, which really feels quite naughty! What’s yours?”

“Oh, Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut” shrugged Patrick, “the raisins allow me to pretend it’s not totally unhealthy." He paused and silence fell briefly once more, "I tried to stop myself” he blurted out.

“Sorry?”

“I tried to stop myself, from falling in love with you. And I couldn't. And just, every time I spent any time with you, at the clinic, or at house calls, or even that day we went to County Hall, I just found it more and more difficult to walk away at the end of our time together. And I knew that I shouldn't feel this way, that you were utterly unavailable to me, and I tried, so hard, so much, to tell myself that I had to stop these feelings that were growing, each day, even as I tried so hard to resist them.”

“You did nothing wrong.”

“But it felt like I did. I hoped, and I looked at you, and I saw you looking at me, and I convinced myself that I was reading too much into, well, everything. And then, the day of the fete, I don’t know what came over me, I acted unforgivably.” said Patrick, remembering the day he had abandoned the pretence of mere professionalism and revealed a fraction of his true feelings.

“Well, if it was unforgivable, I don’t think I would be here now. I think, it was you showing me what I needed to be aware of. I had been unsure until then, as to whether I was reading too much into our actions around each other, but I knew then that I had not been.” Shelagh needed Patrick to forgive himself for his actions that day, he had seemed so contrite, when her heart had been singing whilst her head screamed at her in despair.

“Hmm. And how is the hand?”

Shelagh smiled, holding her palm out for him to examine, “oh, almost entirely healed”. 

Patrick took her proffered hand in his, and raised it to his lips, an echo of the movement he had so tenderly made so many months earlier, but now with all barriers between them vanquished. His lips lingered this time, and Shelagh did not pull her hand away, but rather allowed Patrick to hold his lips to her skin, and trail the pads of his fingers over her wrist. He released his lips, and raised his eyes back towards Shelagh, who was finding it impossible to tear her eyes from him. “There, all better,” he said. 

“Yes” replied Shelagh, the word escaping from her mouth like a prayer.

They smiled at each other, both happy to be able to spend time with each other, without having to feel guilty because of it. Shelagh suddenly furrowed her brow and looked around the room.

“Where’s Timothy?” 

Patrick followed her gaze. “Oh, I don’t know. Has he snuck upstairs?”

“Leaving us on our own without a chaperone, how scandalous” Shelagh teased, “should you go and find him?” she asked quickly.

“I’ll just make sure he’s all right. Wait here, I’ll be back in a jiffy”.


	5. "Will there be kissing?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Patrick quite rashly asks Tim a very important question. Tim is much more concerned about whether or not there will be kissing, and how much his Dad can possibly be messing this up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, when I was plotting this, this conversation happened later, but it suddenly felt right to have it here. 
> 
> Eternal thanks to my mum, who used to nick her brother's copy of "The Eagle" when she was young, as apparently it was much better than the "girls' magazine" she used to get. 
> 
> And watch, watch as I desperately avoid giving the first Mrs Turner a first name, in a desperate attempt not to be canon-balled at some point in the future!
> 
> Oh, and Granny Parker is taking Tim to a succession of classic 50's Romantic Comedies and Musicals.

Patrick cautiously pushed open the door of Timothy’s room, bracing himself for the inevitable whirlwind of chaos that always seemed to be present. He carefully assessed the floor to make sure he wasn't about to trip over an abandoned toy and break his ankle. He was surprised to discover that the floor was surprisingly clear, and it looked as if the boy had tried to tidy up recently. He looked around and observed Timothy sitting on his bed, intently reading what Patrick assumed to be the most recent copy of “The Eagle”. 

“Timothy?”

“Dad. Auntie Shelagh hasn't left has she?”

“No. We just didn't know where you’d got to.”

“I'm surprised you managed to take your eyes off each other for long enough to notice I’d gone.” Timothy realised he was pushing the boundary of how much cheek he could give to his dad, but reckoned he would get a little more slack than usual after the day they’d had.

“Hey now!” Patrick wanted to tell Timothy off, but he couldn't quite bring himself to stop smiling for long enough to admonish the boy.

“Oh come on Dad. I could have set the dining table on fire, and neither of you would have noticed.”

“Timothy!”

“I'm joking with you Dad. So, how’s it going?” Timothy was part-way through the Dan Dare strip, although he’d now read the first few panels four times at least.

“Erm, OK. We've, done some, talking.”

“Do you mean ‘talking’, or do you mean kissing?” said Timothy, wearily putting his comic down next to him on the bed; the Mekons would have to wait. 

“I mean talking, and less of your cheek young man”, said Patrick, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“So why are you up here?”

“As I said, before you started being cheeky, we didn't know where you were.”

“I decided to give you some time alone. Being a chaper, chaper…”

“Chaperone?”

“Yeah, it’s a bit boring, actually.”

“Well I'm sorry we haven’t been keeping you amused. We’ll obviously have to try harder next time.” Patrick wasn't sure how he felt about his ten year old son chaperoning him, at the age of almost 50. Did they need a chaperone? 

“So there is going to be a next time?”

“Oh, erm. We hadn’t really got that far.”

“Dad”, said Timothy with an exasperated sigh, “you’re not messing this up are you? You two both seem awfully tongue tied.”

“I think, well, we've both had quite a strange day.” Which, Patrick thought, was a significant understatement. He’d gone from the depths of despair to the heights of ecstasy since he’d arrived at work that morning, and Shelagh had plainly had a quite turbulent day too.

“Right. So get back down there, tell her you want to see her again, and set a time to meet up again.”

“I don’t know, would that seem too pushy?”

“You do want to see her again, don’t you Dad?”

“Well, yes…”

“And, in summary, she has been away for three months, called you to tell you she was being discharged today, has stopped being a Nun and is currently sat downstairs following the two of you ‘talking’ for,” the boy glanced at the alarm clock on his bedside table, “oohh, an hour and a quarter.”

“How long?”

“It’s quarter past eight Dad. But anyway, I think we can probably assume that she wants to see you again.”

“Right. Yes.” Patrick went quiet, wringing his hands nervously. It was close to the boy’s bedtime and he needed to speak to him about his plans as soon as possible.

“Actually, Tim, whilst I'm up here.”

“Yes?”

“Erm, well, you know we spoke earlier today about mum?”

“Yes. And I understand that you’ll never forget her. Neither will I.”

“Yes, well. Erm, well,” he didn't know how to proceed. He had so much he wanted to say, and he wasn't sure where to start. 

“What is it Dad?”

“I’d like to ask Auntie Shelagh to marry me.” Patrick blurted it out, and was worried that he’d been too blunt. A silence fell between them as Timothy considered this. 

“That’d mean she’d live here with us.”

“Well, yes.”

“Would there be kissing?” Timothy almost spat the word out, his disgust at the very concept more than evident.

“I imagine there might be some.” Patrick’s mind wandered to earlier in the evening, and he realised that he’d quite like it if there was more kissing. Quite a lot more kissing, if he was entirely honest with himself. He cleared his throat and adjusted his tie.

Timothy made a face and scrunched up his nose, “Ugh. Does there have to be kissing? It’s all sloppy and loud.”

“Thanks.”

“Well it is.”

“Just you wait a few years; you’ll change your mind.”

“Eh?”

“Never mind. Anyway, kissing aside, what do you think?”

Timothy went quiet again. He missed mum, and he’d grown used to it just being him and his Dad, with the housekeeper coming in to do the housework that was beyond them. He wasn't happy about his dad’s terrible cooking, and it occurred to him that Auntie Shelagh, being a girl, could probably cook quite well. And he liked spending time with her. She’d been nice to him over the summer, when his Dad had been busy, and she’d helped him win the three-legged race, doing much better than his Dad would have. And his Dad had been happier today than he’d seen him in months.

“When are you going to ask her? Are you going to do it now? Can I ask her?”

“Slow down. I haven’t decided yet. Not now, I’d need to get a ring first. And, err, no. I think it best if I ask her. But we should probably let her know that you’re all right with it. If you are? I know this is all terribly fast.”

“A ring?” Timothy was confused.

“Yes. You have to have a ring.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how it works. And I want to do this properly.”

“You've already got a ring.” said Timothy, nodding towards Patrick’s left hand. Patrick followed the boy’s eyes and nervously played with the wedding band. 

“Ah. Yes. About that.” He didn't know how to go on; Timothy was being remarkably accepting of the situation, but this, well, this might be a step too far. “Well, this is a wedding ring, not an engagement ring. And I think, I think I'm going to have to stop wearing this.” He indicated the ring, rotating it slowly around his finger.

“Because that’s from mum.”

“Yes.” Patrick couldn't look at his son directly.

“Oh.” Timothy went quiet again. “Will you keep it?”

“Of course. I think, maybe, mum would want me to keep it for you.” Patrick was frantically grasping to try to find his way through a maze of emotions. He missed Tim’s mother every day, and he just couldn't believe that the strength of his feelings for Shelagh had come to eclipsing those feelings in so many ways. He felt strangely dis-loyal, even though every fibre of his being told him she wouldn't want him to be alone for the rest of his days. He recalled a conversation they’d had, towards the end, when she’d said as much to him, and he’d just laughed, sure he’d never find anyone he’d love so deeply again, and who would apparently return his love, as Shelagh seemed to.

“For me?” Timothy interrupted the day-dream.

“Yes. For when you find someone you want to marry.”

“Oh.”

“Is that all right?”

“I guess so.” Timothy didn't think he’d ever want to get married. Girls were weird; they didn't like cricket, or Spitfires and they didn't play football. Timothy wondered why he’d ever be interested in kissing, which looked weird. And he wasn't sure how you knew what 'love' felt like. This was probably all stuff to ask Dad some other time. For now, he noticed, Dad was looking at him as if he was waiting for permission. 

“So if you’re going to ask Auntie Shelagh to marry you, that means she’s your girlfriend now, right?” 

“Oh. Erm….” Patrick winced to himself, he was moving too fast, and the boy had hit the nail on the head, probably without even realising it.

“Dad! You need to ask her to be your girlfriend first, and then you ask her to marry you later. Honestly, you really are very bad at this, how would you manage without me?” said Tim, looking at his Dad with a practised expression of innocence.

“Hmm. And how do you know all this?”

“It was in a picture that I saw. With Granny Parker.”

“Oh, right.” Patrick resolved to pay a bit more attention in the future to what Granny Parker was taking Tim to see when they went to the cinema. 

“But yeah, Dad, I think it’d be nice if you asked Auntie Shelagh to marry you. I think she’d probably like that.”

“Right then, good. Would you like it?” Patrick was all a daze.

“Yeah. I mean, it might be strange at first, having her living here, but I'm sure it’ll be fine. Maybe you should go back downstairs and ask her if she wants to be your girlfriend. Give you a bit more of an idea of how keen she is?”

“Right, yes.” Patrick straightened his tie again, he was suddenly nervous. He rose up from the bed.

“Although, given the way she was looking at you over supper, I'm fairly sure she’s quite keen on you too.” Timothy just wanted to get back to Dan Dare, the story was at quite a critical point, and his dad had been up here long enough that Shelagh would probably be starting to worry.

“And don’t forget to arrange another time to meet up with her.”

“Right. Absolutely.” Patrick was worried he’d forget everything as soon as he looked at Shelagh.

“And I’ll stay up here. Just in case there’s any more kissing.” Tim sighed in mock exasperation.

“Timothy!” Patrick was flustered now and trying not to blush furiously.

“Dad. It’s fine. I just don’t want to have to see it, that’s all. And then you need to walk her back to Mrs Williams’ house.”

“Right, yes, thank you Timothy.” Patrick was reeling from the fact that he appeared to be taking advice on how to run his love life from his son. Although, he mused, at least the boy seemed to accept that he had a love life, which, now he thought about it, had been nothing more than a hope and a wish as recently as this morning. Patrick backed towards the door. “And you’ll be OK here on your own?”

“Dad, I’ll be fine. It’s not like you’ll be gone for ages, is it?” asked Tim, somewhat pointedly.

“No, no, absolutely not. And then, maybe we can talk about a plan for this whole ‘proposal’ idea, see if we can come up with a good idea between us?”

Tim rolled his eyes, his dad was hopeless. “Yes, absolutely, now go and talk to Auntie Shelagh.” He picked up The Eagle, opening the page he had been reading earlier.  
Patrick felt like he was being dismissed by a teacher. He coughed again, clearing his throat.

“Right then, almost your bed time young man, the end of that story please, then get yourself ready for bed” Patrick needed to take back control, be the grown up here.

“Yes Dad” replied Tim, already focusing on the comic rather than his dad. Patrick stepped through the door, closing it gently behind him. He brushed his hand through his hair and went back down the stairs.


	6. If he's this nervous now....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Patrick reverts to being an awkward teenager. Well, right up until the kissing bit....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assume that Tim's gone to sleep dreaming of Mekons, and that Patrick is used to leaving him in the house on his own for short-ish periods of time (it *is* 1958 - parenting standards were different). This was going to be longer, but I decided to leave the slight angst that's coming for the next chapter...
> 
> Also, how is it 22 days since I updated this? Apologies for keeping you waiting, and thank you for your very kind comments both here and on Tumblr. :)

Patrick slowed almost to a halt as he reached the bottom of the stairs. What was he doing? He felt like an old fool. Shelagh was so much younger than him; he’d cast a sneaky glance over her medical records during the TB treatment, which he’d justified to himself at the time as appraising himself of all the facts pertinent to the specific patient. He had also been fully aware that such justification was complete nonsense, and he was just desperate to find out anything more about her, however small. 

As he reached the last step and passed along the hallway, he paused as he reached the doorway to the sitting room. Shelagh had fallen asleep on the couch, her legs tucked under her, her shoes neatly lined up on the carpet. She was beautiful, and seemed so serene. She made a little snoring sound, and Patrick couldn’t help giggling at the unexpected noise. His giggling woke Shelagh who roused with a start. She jerked her head up, her glasses bouncing lightly on the bridge of her nose as she returned to consciousness. 

“Patrick! I’m sorry! Gosh, I don’t know what came over me, how long have I been asleep?” she asked, rearranging herself and taking her feet off the sofa, hastily trying to sort out her shoes.

“I don’t know, I just came back down. I was up with Tim for maybe fifteen minutes?” he replied, moving across the room and sitting next to her. He reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly. “Don’t worry about it, you’ve had a remarkably busy day, you must have packed much more in than you have in many months, I’m surprised you didn’t fall asleep earlier.” 

Patrick smiled at Shelagh broadly; the sight of her on his couch, looking so comfortable and at home had utterly convinced him that he wanted her here like this always. Thoughts and plans suddenly ran through Patrick’s mind: an understanding of how to propose; of when and where to obtain a ring; of when to propose. He’d do it right now if he’d had a ring, but he wanted to do this properly, show that he meant it. He wanted to be able to give Shelagh a symbol of his love for her, something she could wear to show to the world that they were serious about each other, that he was committed to her. He realised that none of this could be easy for her, and he wanted to give her reassurance, as much as his love; reassurance that he was absolutely certain that they had each made the right decision – him to reveal himself more fully in his letters to her, and her to find the courage to change her entire life and to respond to his written revelations with such directness. He lifted her hand and kissed the knuckles, squeezing her hand lightly once more as he released his grip. 

“I should take you home. You need to rest.” Patrick realised that he needed an early night too; there was now much to be done tomorrow morning, but now he had to take Timothy’s idea for a 'run up the flagpole', and see how Shelagh responded, “Erm, I spoke to Timothy, who does really like you, by the way, but apparently he felt like we were being a bit too soppy around each other….”

“Oh, I am sorry, I hope I haven’t embarrassed him, or made him feel uncomfortable,” Shelagh was contrite, she didn't know how you were supposed to behave in circumstances such as this.

“Oh no, no, I think he was bemused by the whole thing, a comment was made that he could have got away with almost anything and I wouldn't have noticed. Apparently we were far too wrapped up in each other….”

“Oh, well then I hope I haven’t made him feel like I was excluding him. He is just as important to me as you are….” Shelagh trailed off, she was trying to say so much, but knew so few ways to express herself, and she had spent so long suppressing her inner feelings, that the ability to voice them still felt almost alien to her. 

“No, no. He says, erm, he says in fact that, erm….”

“He says what?” asked Shelagh, trying to understand Patrick’s reticence. 

“He says I should ask you to be my girlfriend.” Patrick blurted out, looking away immediately like an embarrassed teenager.

“Oh” said Shelagh, also looking away. She hesitated. “Do you, do you think you would want to ask me that?” she queried, quietly, her heart starting to beat faster.

“Erm, er, well, I would like that, very much. I mean, if you wanted to. No pressure. I feel a bit old, if I’m being honest.” Patrick wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole; this had been a mistake, it was too much, it sounded silly.

“Why do you feel old?” asked Shelagh.

“Because I am old” said Patrick, with a sense of resignation.

“It’s not like either of us are teenagers” said Shelagh, turning to face him, “and I think, both of us being, well, older, just a little bit older mind,” she smiled at him, and reached out towards him, skimming her finger tips lightly over his jaw line to turn his face to her, “I think maybe that means that we both have to not be afraid to say what we want and how we feel.” 

Patrick could feel the imprint of her feather light touch on his skin. The gentleness of her touch somehow felt as if it penetrated deep within him, “right, yes.” He coughed lightly, taking both of Shelagh’s hands in his and turning towards her. He exhaled quickly, if he felt this nervous now, he wondered to himself, how on earth would he cope when he proposed? He put that thought out of his mind for the moment. “Well then, Shelagh. Would you agree to be my girlfriend?” 

Shelagh scrunched her eyes shut and giggled, “you’re right, that does sound silly.” She opened her eyes again and looked directly at Patrick, “But yes, thank you, that would be lovely.”

“Right, all right”, Patrick beamed. Shelagh smiled broadly and they both giggled nervously. Patrick reached his hand up and stroked the side of Shelagh’s face. She blushed and swallowed deeply, never taking her eyes from his. Patrick nervously leaned forward, gently leading Shelagh towards him. Shelagh gently closed her eyes as Patrick’s lips carefully made contact with hers. 

Whereas their first kiss had been marked by caution giving way to an explosion of the passion they both felt for each other, this kiss was different again, the raw heat replaced by tenderness, as Patrick took the lead this time. His lips were soft as they gently brushed over Shelagh’s, and she felt her lips tingle as the warmth of Patrick’s lips were softly pressed against hers. Patrick felt Shelagh relax as his hand continued to lightly caress her cheek. Shelagh felt herself leaning into Patrick, eager to remain enveloped in his warm embrace. Patrick was very certain that he was not imagining Shelagh leaning in and ever so slightly shifting her weight towards him. Patrick felt that if he deepened the kiss now that Shelagh was almost certain to respond, and that once they started to kiss, he would never want to stop. They both became aware that it was getting later, and that Tim was just upstairs. They hesitantly, reluctantly, moved apart, and Shelagh sighed lightly as they parted and Patrick moved his hand to grasp hers once more. 

“All right?” he asked, searching Shelagh’s eyes for any uncertainty. 

“Yes” replied Shelagh, trying to fight back her smile which was breaking ever wider. 

“I should probably take you home, you must be tired.” Patrick stroked the back of Shelagh’s hand. He needed now to arrange to meet with her tomorrow; his plan for proposing forming more solidly in his mind with every passing minute. 

“I am honestly not tired, I’ve been resting for months Patrick” replied Shelagh.

“Well, all evidence to the contrary. And this is Doctor’s orders” said Patrick, smiling brightly.

“Why do Doctor’s always think they know better than nurses?” said Shelagh, her eyes widening as she responded cheekily.

“Why are nurses always so stubborn?” said Patrick, a twinkle in his eye.

“Because we have to be,” replied Shelagh, leaning forward and lightly kissing Patrick on the cheek, smiling as she did, “but you are probably right, I probably should go home.”

They both rose form the sofa, and Patrick placed his hand on Shelagh’s lower back to guide her as she crossed in front of him towards the hallway. A tingle ran up her spine and she smiled, unseen by Patrick, as she entered the hallway and reached up to the coat rack for her borrowed jacket. Patrick helped her into the jacket, before reaching for his overcoat and hat. 

“Walk or drive?” he asked.

“Drive, I think. Do you mind?”

“No, of course not.” Patrick checked his coat pocket for his car keys, the heavy weight of the bunch of metal pleasingly lying in the misshapen left-hand pocket, bent out of shape through years of use.

“Will Timothy be all right? Should he come with us?” asked Shelagh.

“He will be fine, I spoke to him about taking you home when I was upstairs” replied Patrick. 

He guided Shelagh down the hall way, shutting the front door behind him gently before unlocking the car and helping Shelagh into the passenger seat. Today had been a whirlwind of emotion, and he couldn't believe he now had a girlfriend. He felt simultaneously very old and full of the joys of youth. He practically skipped round to his side of the car.


	7. You're only a day away...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick's plan is forming, he just needs to make sure that Shelagh isn't about to run for the hills (of Chichester, presumably!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh the things I research for fic! The East London Advertiser was formed in 1866. It's now (2014) the "Docklands and East London Advertiser", but it's still going!
> 
> This is the last chapter of this fic - I have a head-canon that he proposed the next day (it explains their slight nervousness around each other, the cuteness of them both grinning about using each other's first names, and the fact that Shelagh is plainly still getting used to walking in heels - I sympathise. Also, why no-one else is in the Parish Hall - they're all still sleeping off the all-night vigil for Chummy). More "missing scenes" when I get back from my work-stress induced mini-hiatus. :)

The journey was over all too briefly, and Shelagh and Patrick found themselves outside her lodgings. Patrick turned the car key to turn off the engine. Silence fell both inside and outside. Shelagh cleared her throat, looking around to see if there was anyone on the street. 

“Thank you, for this evening. It was lovely” she was suddenly rather nervous, she had enjoyed a lovely evening, and apparently Patrick was now her boyfriend, but it all felt somewhat disjointed and, if she was honest, as if it was a dream she would soon awaken from. Shelagh was also worried, about what was expected of her, what people would think of her, what people would think of Patrick and what people would say about her time away at the Sanatorium. She knew the women of Poplar loved gossip, and she was well aware that this whole situation was going to be irresistible. Maybe she could just live quietly away from the prying eyes until the gossip died down. The street was surprisingly quiet, the street lights dim, and she hadn’t seen anyone she recognised on the drive here.

Patrick couldn’t find any words. He just wanted to ask if he could see her tomorrow, but the words seemed so hard to say out loud. “Thank you for coming” he said, wincing slightly. How did this seem so difficult now, when it had seemed so easy just minutes earlier at his home? He vaguely noticed Shelagh looking up and down the street. His mind traced back to the conversation Timothy and he had shared this afternoon. Tim had said that Shelagh wanted to keep things quiet, for the moment. They had somehow managed to avoid talking about that at all, and it dawned on him that Shelagh was looking to see if anyone was watching them. “Are you all right?” he asked. 

“Oh, yes, fine thank you” said Shelagh, quietly. She didn’t know what to do now, what did you do? Did you shake hands; that felt too formal? Maybe you kissed, but she wasn’t sure about doing that in public, it felt like something only teenagers would do. She wanted to keep the kissing just between them; it felt like something that was none of anyone else’s business. 

“This, isn’t, all too much?” Patrick asked, deciding to carry on speaking rather than let silence descend once more, “I mean, I understand that today has to have been very emotional for you, and I hope you realise that I would never want to cause you to be upset.”

Shelagh frowned at him, what was he trying to say? Was he changing his mind? “Upset….?”

Patrick saw the look of distress on her face and spoke up quickly, “it’s just that Timothy said this afternoon, that you would like to keep things quiet for the moment.”

“Oh”

“And I was just wondering what you meant by that?” Patrick was worried that Shelagh was embarrassed at the prospect of being seen with him. 

“Oh. Well.” Shelagh summoned her courage and quickly pulled her thoughts together, “it’s just, I’m worried about what people might say, about you, I’m worried about your reputation. I wouldn’t want Timothy to hear anything, well, untoward. And I wouldn’t want the Sisters to hear any gossip before I have a chance to explain to them, all of them, what it was, what it is, that has made me so certain that I had to leave them.”

Patrick thought through all of this, and was relieved, Shelagh didn’t seem to be having second thoughts, “It seems like you’re worried about everyone other than yourself….”

“I’ll be fine. But you, well, you’re the Doctor, and I, well, Patrick I was a nun! People are going to say all sorts of things about you, and I can’t bear to think that it might be because of me.” Patrick could see that Shelagh was becoming emotional, and reached out to hold her hand, stroking it gently until she took a deep breath and appeared to calm down slightly.

“Is that it? You’re worried about what people will say about me? Don’t be, I can look after myself. People will say what people will say, and there is nothing we can do to stop them”. Patrick was relieved, his reputation was the least of his concerns, and he was assured that Shelagh was not embarrassed about them.

Shelagh felt the need to expand her explanation, “I know, and you know; we both know that nothing, inappropriate occurred between us, but other people are not going to know that, and I dread to consider what they might decide to believe, especially with me having been away from Poplar for so long. But if things had been different….”

“If things had been different, people would still talk. If you had ‘just’ been one of the nurses, like Jenny or Trixie, people would talk.” Patrick knew that such an occurrence would have been considerably less gossip-worthy, but he was desperate to calm Shelagh.

“But that would be so much less….”

“So much less?” Patrick asked tentatively.

“So much less, well, scandalous” cried Shelagh, trying to stay calm. Patrick could feel her rapidly quickening pulse and held his other hand out to her. Shelagh turned slightly to face him and placed both her hands within his, “oh, what are we to do?”

“We ignore them. It wouldn’t matter who you were, or are, or who I am, or whether I had a ten year old son or not, people will always find something to talk about, and if it’s something where they cannot or do not know the whole story, then they will make up the gaps to suit themselves. Unless you want to take out a full page notice in The East London Advertiser, then people will make things up. We just have to ignore them. And I understand that will be difficult, but we will find a way to show people that we do not care. I don’t care what anyone says. We both know the truth, and that is all that matters.”

“Oh” said Shelagh, unsure of what else to say.

“So I will be fine, and you will be fine, and Timothy will be fine. Someone very wise once told me that children are very resilient.” Shelagh smiled as she remembered that long ago conversation in the convent. “And I would like to see you again, very much.”

Shelagh thought for a moment. She so wanted to be with him, to spend time with him. She would just have to get used to being the focus of attention for a while. “When were you thinking?” she asked.

Patrick took a deep breath, “tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” asked Shelagh. That was very soon, but she was learning that once Patrick was sure of himself, he did not back down.

“Yes. Umm, I am free before clinic.”

“The ante-natal clinic?” queried Shelagh, unsure as to where he could be suggesting they go at such a time.

“Yes. Perhaps you could meet me in the Parish Hall?” Patrick was formulating a plan in his mind, calculating how long he would need to sort everything out in the morning, “maybe, at say, eleven-thirty?”

“Eleven-thirty? But the clinic doesn’t begin until two o’clock?” Shelagh was very confused.

“Well, yes.” said Patrick.

“Surely you have patients in the morning?” asked Shelagh.

“Some, yes. But I’ll be free by then, and I would, very much, like to meet you then. I hope,” he paused, unsure of how to say what he wanted to say. “I hope to be able to offer you some reassurance, to show you that I am as certain as you are.”

Shelagh tried to guess what Patrick meant. She could see he looked very serious, and slightly nervous. A nervous flutter started to develop within her, and she felt him grip her hands slightly tighter. She suddenly realised that she had a lot to do in the morning, and not very much time in which to accomplish what she felt would not be an easy task.

“The Parish Hall, at eleven-thirty. That would be lovely,” she smiled at him, an excitement starting to build within her. 

“Fantastic” said Patrick, smiling brightly.

Shelagh leaned in towards him, loosening one hand from his grip and reaching up to brush her finger along his jaw line. She leaned forward and lightly kissed his cheek, before turning and opening the door of the car. She gracefully exited the vehicle, leaning down to look at Patrick once more. “I did have a lovely evening, I look forward to tomorrow. Thank you Patrick, good night.”

“Good night” said Patrick, stunned by Shelagh’s sudden sense of urgency. He watched her as she knocked on the door of Mrs Williams’ lodging house. She turned and waved at him as she waited for the door to open, her smile seeming to lighten up the dimly-lit street. Patrick waved back, as the front door was opened and Mrs Williams ushered Shelagh inside, nodding assuredly at Patrick as she shut the door behind the young woman. 

Patrick fired up the car’s engine, plans for tomorrow already flying through his mind. He drove home as if on auto-pilot, not noticing any of the people he passed on the way. Tomorrow was already looking like being another very emotional day; he was going to propose to Shelagh, he just hoped she would accept.


End file.
